Hate this and I'll love you
by casablancas
Summary: An American mercenary is sent to London after a slave trader who happens to be a death eater. The last things she needs is the distraction of a certain werewolf...RLOC, supernatural themes.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: not making any money.

**Hate this and I'll love you**

Prologue

I don't like writing. I'd just like to point that out. I'm dyslexic and can hardly write my name legibly, but I'm using one of those Muggle computers with the letters in the little boxes that you press, and there's something called Spellchecker which helps immensely. So this may take me a while, but you told me, Roberts, that I had to write a report and you had to be able to read it for once so here I am.  
  
I'm not used to writing reports, Roberts, ok? I'm used to reporting orally which is so much easier even if it was a bit daunting at first, so bear with me if I start going off on tangent, I've just not got the hang of writing my thoughts down on paper, it's more difficult to organise your thoughts doing this.  
  
Name: Skye Matthews.

Age: 23 Number: #09

Occupation: Mercenary. Sounds really horrible and awful down on paper. I'm not that bad, I'm just morally challenged. I like to think of myself as a secret agent; I kill bad people, I have a shiny wand/gun and I work for a secret agency. Mercenary sounds like I kill people for whoever bids the highest price, which is untrue. And I mainly kill demons who eat human's skin or body parts and not actual humans, so I'm not evil.

Mission: Completed. I was in England. Mission was to take out Jeffery Lewis, a Death Eater who was guilty of slave trafficking in the middle east among other monstrosities. That was the easy part.  
  
There was a problem, the Ministry over there are completely incompetent, and I ended up part of a secret force that was trying to take down Voldemort. Which is why a ten day mission took me a year, basically.  
  
So let me tell you what happened.

AN: Might actually finish this fic...have done two chapters and it actually has a plot. Review please. I like criticism, it's really useful.


	2. Chapter One God, Demons and Diagon Aley

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**Hate this and I'll love you**

Chapter One - Gods, Demons and Diagon Alley

I apparated to one of the many apparition sites in London, England, early in the morning, but the time difference set me back about six hours, so I decided that I could just walk to Diagon Alley as I'd just come from Headquarters in New York and needed to stretch my legs. I remember thinking that it was kind of nice to be back where I had grown up, after being away for so long. Then it started raining, so I really knew I was home. Actually it was a bit weird coming home, because it had changed so much and yet it was exactly the same, like the buildings weren't that much different or the weather, but the fashions were completely different from the early nineteen nineties. I felt a bit nostalgic.  
  
I was pretty wet by the time I walked through the Leaky Cauldron, which hasn't changed a bit and I don't think it ever will; it kind of stands still in time. Tom was still there, the creepy man that he is, and the normal clientele of hags and odd loners were still hunched about the bar. I used my wand to dry myself and went out the back and tapped the wall and was finally in Diagon Alley.  
  
My favourite place in the world.  
  
So I went into Gringotts bank and exchanged my dollars (from the US) into galleons and stared in fascination at the goblins and their ridiculously long noses. Since the first time I saw one, as a naïve eleven year old, I've been unable to shake the little voice in my head that says, go on, you know you want to, pull his nose and yell, got your conk! Sometimes I'm pretty immature.  
  
So I went back to the Leaky Cauldron and got myself a room and formulated my plan. Or rather, waited for my plan to formulate. Actually I had no idea what to do, it seemed kind of risky, trying to find Lewis, in the middle of a war. Although, it wasn't like he was important or in any place of high position, and I'd heard he was a pretty difficult person to get along with, so there would probably be no one to protect him. It's not like Voldemort takes care of his own, he couldn't care less. Death Eaters don't have friends.  
  
So I reckoned that if I was going to even find Lewis, I would have to ask some of the more dodgier witches and wizards questions and basically submerge myself in the underworld, where all the demons and vampires hang out. Which would be fun.  
  
So I dyed my hair black and cut it so it was spiky and applied lots of eyeliner, and pulled on my best black robes (none of my usual Muggle clothes). Pathetically clichéd, I know, because most people who are evil don't look evil, and I wasn't trying to stereotype anyone but I wasn't sure what else to do. Wow, I admitted to incompetence, and you have it in writing. Then I headed down Knockaturn Alley and into one of the shops, all in all it was a pretty surreal experience.  
  
The shop I went into was called "Exotic Supplies" and it was full off illegal potion ingredients and worse behind the counter. If anyone from the Ministry ever had the courage/stupidity to head down Knockaturn Alley (which they wouldn't, because they'd probably be mugged or attacked - I was but I'm used to people trying to kill me) they'd have a field day.  
  
So I started making conversation with the slimy shop owner and complimenting and flirting, which made my skin crawl and with the fumes in that shop who knows, until I got invited to a party that night at someone's house. Score. The guy was so pleased about a beautiful girl like me actually agreeing to go to a party with him he didn't realise that I walked out the door without paying for what I had picked up. Oh well, no skin off my nose.  
  
Then I felt pretty hungry and decided that I should have a nice nutritious meal of ice cream, so I headed to Diagon Alley to the ice cream shop and ordered a huge sundae. Because I'm worth it, and you're paying for it. And then I saw him.  
  
God, Roberts, I saw God, or at least a personification of him, and that's saying something from me since I'm an atheist. I'd no idea who he was at that point, only that I was practically drooling. Actually, he's probably not that good looking to the average person, but I'm empathic, which makes not average, not normal and he was exuding some sort of animal magnetism that I think only I picked up. I wish he had picked me up.  
  
He was old, or at least older than me. Brown, almost grey hair, grey eyes, well over six foot and really tired looking; doesn't sound special does he? He was wearing patched robes, but he had this air of sophistication and intelligence that kind of drew me to him. I probably had a really dopey smile on my face, but it was so out of character of me to get a crush on someone in less than ten seconds, but there we go. He was carrying a package and in a rush and I honestly thought that I'd never see him again.  
  
I went to the party. I wasn't that impressed actually, it was a Death Eater's recruitment party and there was hardly any alcohol or anyone that exciting. Just some guy who was prattling on about "The True Cause" and all the "Evil Mudbloods" and I figured that it was a waste of time.  
  
Actually, the whole war thing was beginning to really bother me at the point. The first war was before I got my acceptance letter, since I'm an Evil Mudblood, so I knew nothing about the first war, it was before me, and in the past. Like muggle children and World War Two, I couldn't really imagine the horrors that the people then had faced.  
  
But this kind of made me realise that it was real. It's one thing hearing rumours of trouble, it's another actually attending a Death Eater Party. It was pretty ironic really, since I'm Muggleborn and proud of it. I think I had only realised then that this was big, it was serious and it was pretty scary. Don't worry, I didn't run out like a headless chicken, I would have been dead before I hit the floor.  
  
"…Long Live The Dark Lord!" concluded the obsessed speaker. We all murmured in reply and so the mingling began. The obsessed speaker, called MacLeod, got off his little podium and came into the crowd and started talking to people. Someone on the left of me said hello.  
  
"Hello," I said in reply, wondering if I should indulge in the polite pleasantries or if Death Eaters were above that. I looked intensely at the man who had said hello to me, memorising his face for future reference. I think most people think that when I'm doing that I'm checking them out, because I have not yet managed to master doing it subtly. Oh well.  
  
He was a little taller than me, utterly gorgeous, dark brown curly hair, dark and suave looking, long straight nose, clean shaven and I didn't trust him at all. You know I'm empathic, so I can read other people's emotions and whereas with the God, I could feel sensitivity and kindness oozing out of his pores, with this man, I could taste the slyness, the cunning, the will to deceive. So of course I went along with it and gave him what I hope was a seductive smile.  
  
"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, his dark eyes glittering. Internally groaning at his awful line, outwardly I remained smiling, maintaining eye contact.  
  
"Looking for a little bit of adventure. What draws you here?" I asked, evasively dodging the question. I doubt he would have responded well to the real answer, I felt violence bubbling under his placid surface. He smiled.  
  
"Came along for the ride. MacLeod is a friend of mine," he told me. This I took that he was also a Death Eater. I raised my eyebrows in disbelief.  
  
"Really? His speech was really passionate," I began, only to be interrupted by the man himself.  
  
"You thought so? Excellent," said MacLeod, grinning. I could tell that he really believed in his cause, which was bloody scary if you think about it. MacLeod and his friend were both pretty young, late twenties and not stupid. "You thinking about joining? It would be a wise move," he told me, staring at me hard, probably to determine whether I was Death Eater quality or not.  
  
"I'm thinking about it," I said, smiling. I was feeling pretty comfortable at this point.  
  
"Where are my manners? My name is Alexander Hamilton," introduced the dark handsome man who I didn't trust, "and this is Rory MacLeod. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" he asked.  
  
"Sylvia Darcy," I lied. It was an old wizarding French name that I take on occasion, mainly because Sylvia Darcy didn't exist but English people didn't know that. And plus, any excuse to practise my flawless fluent French. Hamilton, ever the charmer, took my hand and kissed it. I felt like puking on him he was so nauseating but my acting skills endeavoured me to go on.  
  
We had a nice little conversation about Death Eaters and the like, in which I wondered aimlessly why you hadn't sent people out to stop this war. Then I wondered if you already had, because I'm at the bottom of the Agency and would probably know nothing of these matters since no one ever bothers to tell me anything.  
  
"So how many Death Eaters are there?" I asked, genuinely curious. Hamilton smiled, mysteriously.  
  
"We don't know. The Dark Lord keeps it a secret so we can not betray each other," he told me. "Not that we ever would," he added. My inner monologue was something like SHITTTTTT!  
  
You see, my area of expertise is demons. All one hundred and fifty species. I loved Defence Against the Dark Arts at school, probably because I had been brought up on a diet of zombie movies and vampire movies so the stuff really appealed to me, I thought that it was really cool. Spinger Demons are not so cool when they're trying to tear your skin off so they can eat it, but as a twelve year old it totally fascinated me. It still fascinates me, actually. I love reading about demon's cultures and they're mating habits and stuff. It's pretty morbid, but you have to love what you're doing for a living otherwise it gets really boring. In England, there's not really a demon problem, they usually avoid it because in England they tend to go on big demon hunts and burn them all to ashes and demon's aren't tolerated at all. That why I went to America, because Americans totally ignore them, American muggles are the absolute stupidest people on Earth. You could present them with a Spinger Demon, which are purple and hairless and have yellow cat eyes and speak Demon, which is the ugliest language ever, and they would just be like, oh, you loser it's not Halloween yet.  
  
Which is why I love Americans. 

There actually was a point to that little rant. I'm a demon expert, and I was only put on this mission because Benjamin Holt went on holiday and I was the only one available for the job. Actually I was probably the only one stupid enough to take the job, because it was pretty dangerous. I work in a completely different department. I didn't really know what to do and was completely out of my depth.  
  
So at this point, when I realised I couldn't just casually ask another Death Eater if they knew Lewis, I felt like crying. Well, actually I felt like hitting something really hard. A couple of idiots signed their death certificates (not literally) and became Death Eaters, but most people had come there to just keep friendly with people more powerful than themselves.  
  
However, I did get invited back to Hamilton's flat for a nightcap. I declined, saying I had work in the morning, but promised to come to another party in two days. I managed to completely avoid the slimy man from Exotic Supplies, he was probably scared of the Death Eaters I was surrounded by, come to think of it.  
  
So the evening wasn't a complete failure, as I had been invited to another party, and was sure to pick up some useful information. After than I headed to a non human bar that I know, that I had frequented when I was a teenager and in my rebellious mood. I didn't really feel like heading back to the Leaky Cauldron as the night was young. It was only about eleven at night, which did mean that MacLeod had talked for about two hours. I think I phased out after about ten minutes.  
  
So I headed down to Kiddie Grinder, which didn't really grind kiddies and managed to get past the security, which was quite tight, as humans aren't generally allowed, but I have some demon friends. Most people think that all demons are evil, but not all of them are, just the majority. Like not all humans are good, there are shades of grey. Admittedly, most demons are evil and eat human body parts, but vampires drink blood and they're not all bad. I actually dated a vampire once, but the relationship sucked.  
  
I have a couple of demon contacts at any rate, who are pretty cool. I only kill the evil ones that really do grind kiddies, but Bartholomew is a good friend to have. He's something off an authority figure and usually knows when the offending demons are hiding when I'm looking for one. I heard he was in England so I thought I'd come up and say hello.  
  
Once I was let through, I eventually got to see the bar, which was crowded and full off vampires and weirdly coloured demons and flashing lights. I pushed myself through the crowds and ordered a fire whiskey on the rocks and conveniently forgot to pay and headed to the door in the corner which two rather burly security vampires where guarding.  
  
"Hello boys," I said, demurely, taking a sip of my drink. "Can I come in?" I asked politely enough. One of them, who had cropped blonde hair and an earring, cracked his muscles in what I suppose was supposed to be a menacing way, and growled too. "I think you misheard me," I told them. Both of them had about a foot on me, and were twice as wide as me; I'm quite lean, so I'm sure it looked like I had a death wish. "Let me in or I break your necks," I said.  
  
"I don't think you want to try," persuaded the vampire. I rolled my eyes.  
  
"I'm Matthews," I told him. I'm a bit of a legend among demons, if I do say so myself. This seemed to not impress him. Obviously I'm not so well known in England, and after a mental note to myself to remedy that, I kneed the vampire where it hurts and opened the door using a bit of magic from my trusty wand and slammed the door in his face.  
  
I was in a little dark room, full of demons playing poker. It would not have looked out of place in a Mafia film like the Godfather. Bartholomew was facing me, holding cards and smoking a cigar, a look of surprise and confusion on his slightly blue face (that's the colour they go when Matru demons like him tan, it's because that's the colour of his blood). It looked like a perfect pose, and slightly comical.  
  
"Well, well, well, Skye Matthews has returned to England, as last," he said.

Review my first chapter please?


	3. Family, Death Eaters and Art Museums

**Hate this and I'll love you**

Chapter Two - Family, Death Eaters and Martial Arts

I had a nice friendly chat with Bart, after I joined in their poker game and won hands down (I'm amazing at bluffing - cheating too). We talked about Lewis and he promised to keep an eye out for him, and Death Eaters in general, and caught up on old times.  
  
At about three in the morning, which didn't feel that late for me because I had jet lag, or should that be Apparation lag, I staggered back to the Leaky Cauldron full off drinks I didn't pay for and money that I had stole. I had the most amazing dreams about Him, only to awake to find myself tangled up in the bedcovers and I fell off the bed and thumped my head on the wooden floor, which was one hell of a way to wake up.  
  
At this point I wondered if I should go and visit my parents. I'm not too keen on visiting them, because they always find something wrong with me. I'm not saying I'm Mary Poppins or anything, (practically perfect in every way) but I could do with some recognition. They don't so it on purpose, I've got several brilliant and successful older Muggle siblings, who are all married with a mortgage and a picket fence. But, being a witch and all, not to mention working for a secret government agency that the government doesn't really know about , makes me abnormal.

You would think that they would see me as special or something, because I have talents that they don't have (being Muggles and all), but it's just like being dyslexic. I'm so misunderstood (insert self pitying sobs). And to put the cherry on the cake, I refuse to get married just to please them. "Please Skye, do something normal for a change!" is practically there war cry. Once I hear that phrase, I know that I'm in for a long lecture about how I could marry their friends Mark and Sybil McDonald's nice son (or something to that extent) and settle down to lead a normal/excessively dull life in which picking out cutains would be the highlight.  
  
So you can see how I don't especially look forward to Christmas and birthdays.  
  
I suppose…that having four older siblings made me need to be different to stand out and get some attention, and you know what they say, "All publicity is good publicity," which I reckon goes for attention too. When I was a teenager I pulled some pretty reckless stunts, which gave me the experience for this job, I guess.  
  
But, since I was in the country, it seemed pretty rude not to at least go and say hello and drink tea and exchange news and unpleasantries, even if it did mean listening to mum harping on about how my sister Sicily has a brand new BMW and how Madras's wife is expecting again (yes, weirdly enough, my brothers and sisters and I are named after the places that our parents conceived us, I was conceived in the Island of Skye, Sicily obviously in the island off Italy, my brother Madras in India and my brother Brora also in Scotland; my parents are odd. And, worse of all, it's become a family tradition; I have a niece called Lille and a nephew called Berlin. What would happen, I ask myself, if one got impregnated in Portsmouth, for example? A child that is bullied at school, that's what would happen. And wizards are supposed to have odd names.). And then they ask me if I have a man in my life and try to give me advice I swear comes from the seventeenth century. It gets rather repetitive, but they are my family and you're supposed to love them, even if they are a pain.  
  
So after an hour of writing all the pros and cons of visiting the dreaded parents in my room in the Leaky cauldron under the bedcovers as if that would somehow save me the horror of humiliation I always feel when facing them, I decided to brave all and go. Plus, they would feed me lunch and mum makes the best quiches. I have a one track mind. So I had a shower, put on clean Muggle clothes and apparated near their house, after purchasing a bottle of wine (to be polite, it's like a tradition, as if the pleasure of my company wasn't enough, they need alcohol to put up with me or something) and the door opened.  
  
"SKYE!" came the shocked response to my fake and over enthusiastic smile. My hand was grabbed and I was literally pulled into the sitting room. I reckon they thought that I would try to escape if I were left on my own for two seconds, or maybe they thought I was a mirage.  
  
My parents are rich and they like things that are expensive and show that they're rich, so their house is full off antiques and famous paintings and things like that. When I was a small child, I was in constant trouble, because I pretended I was a pirate and would jump on all the furniture and break things. It's a miracle anything survived, but I think it was asking for it, having fragile glass sculptures placed on table tops and having a four year old. The scary thing about the house, was that it was decorated in a Victorianesque style, and mum never seemed to change it in any large visible way, so it looked exactly like it did when I was five and managed to set the lampshade on fire. Maybe that's why my parents aren't too keen on magic, when I was a child I had no control whatsoever and always set things on fire or blew them up.  
  
My mum is tall, thin, blonde, pretty, upper class and has amazing posture. Total opposite of me (except the pretty part; I'm not modest). She looks like an ironing board though, and I always feel that if I were to give her the tiniest of prods she would topple over. She also has this way of making me feel inferior to her because she's continuously prattling on about Art and famous artists and other stuff that I don't pay attention to because it's Muggle and mundane.  
  
"Skye! Darling! To what do we owe the pleasure?" she asked, perched on a chair, smiling. I smiled back.  
  
"I was in London, because of work so I thought I'd come and say hello…" I said, a bit lamely. I don't write very frequently to my parents, mainly because their letters are full of news about my childhood friends who are multi millionaires or something, whereas I live in a hovel with a junkie who claims to be Jimi Hendrix reincarnated, despite the fact he can't play the guitar to save himself and wears a neon pink jumpsuit because that's how the ladies _want_ him. That was a hint, Roberts. Please give me a pay rise before I'm strangled in the middle of the night by the lunatic I live with.

So when I do come over to England, I feel this need to please her. It's stupid really. I go out of my way to rebel against her, but at the same time I just want to be loved (cue soppy music). Which is how I ended up at some art gallery, admiring something made of paper mache that looked suspiciously like a three year olds made it.  
  
Admittedly I was supposed to be working, the visit to my parents was supposed to be a quick in out operation, but you know how it is. Nothing is ever rational when it comes to parents, like when your mum sent you a Howler about how she was fed up doing your laundry as you're a forty five year old wizard and you should be able to do it yourself. Plus, I feel my mum has this claim over me, I mean, she gave birth to me and put up with me when I set things on fire and really, I think she just wants me to be happy. Except she thinks that the things that make her happy make me happy which doesn't necessarily follow.  
  
However, it was pure luck that I was there (unless you don't believe in coincidences) because that was where the Death Eaters decided to randomly strike.  
  
As I mentioned earlier, the UK was in a bit of a pickle. At this point, for the last year, Dumbledore had been trying to persuade the Ministry of Magic that Voldemort had returned, but as with all facts, it was ridiculed then aggressively denied before it was taken to be the truth. Unfortunately, it took the best part of a year, a crazy loon called Umbridge wrecking Hogwarts and an attack on the Ministry by Lord Voldemort himself before anyone woke up and smelt the coffee.  
  
But that was before I got there. When I arrived, the ministry had accepted that he had returned and were handing out leaflets on how to save safe and generally trying to avoid panic and mass hysteria. After all, they had been using the Daily Prophet as propaganda against Dumbledore and Harry Potter to make it seem like those two were bullshitting the press, so a big turn around would probably confuse most people. So Voldemort had to time his attacks very carefully and quickly, because he wanted to cause panic and disarray.  
  
Remember that Death Eaters hate what they call Mudbloods, us poor muggleborns, and are really joining up with Voldemort because it gives them a chance to torture Muggles and Mudbloods without being put in Azkaban for life. They believe we're inferior, but it's really just blind prejudice. So the Death Eaters get to have some fun, and Voldemort gets to cause panic and shake up the Ministry who really couldn't do a worse job if they tried, and ultimately gain control and I don't want to know to what extent he would abuse that power.  
  
So they attacked a Muggle art museum, which just happened to be the one I was in, which was about the only exciting thing that happened to me in that evening, unless you count some sixty year old art veteran trying to hit on me. It was a big square room, only one entrance and exit, tall ceiling, very crowded, approximately seventy people, some of which had drunk copious amounts of champagne. The Death Eaters stormed in, with their masks and cloaks, completely freaking the hell out of most of the Muggles just by appearance alone, and the lights visibly dimmed, but you could still see them pretty clearly.  
  
My father, always calm in situations like these, pulled out his mobile phone from somewhere (portable telephone that operates by those satellites they stick in space) and called 999 (muggle emergency number for police and fir brigade and ambulances etc). Of course, I did one thing better, I pulled out my wand and waited for the opportune moment. They flooded in, and there was only ten of them and Voldemort wasn't with them, which made me feel a hell of a lot more confident. The Muggles had started screaming and shrieking and running about like headless chickens; generally attracting attention to themselves.  
  
Calm as you like, one of the Death Eaters pointed his wand out in front of him, which made the crowd stop and be silent. I reckon they thought it was some kind of gun, but then this idiot man called out, "Are you joking, a wand?" incredulously.  
  
This of course made the Death Eater scornful and he started to say, "Crucio," at the man who had been rude, from behind a statue made of clothes hangers, I discreetly pointed my wand at him and whispered the shield charm, protgeo.  
  
I know, I know, who would want to make a statue of what I swear resembled a large hat out of clothes hangers?  
  
I couldn't let the Muggle be tortured like that, Roberts, I know it was rash, but I made sure they didn't see where it came from. The crutacius curse is so strong that he could have lost it's mind if it was on for long enough; it's bloody painful. And you know I have a habit of jumping into danger like it's a queue to an Aerosmith concert, I'm reckless and I know it but can't help it and probably won't change.  
  
So the shield charm blocked the curse, but I hoped they wouldn't use Avada kedavra, because nothing can block that, and the man who had called out and would probably never again was saved. Hurrah! Unfortunately it alerted the Death Eater that there was at least one witch or a wizard in the room. Also, the Muggles were very confused and were keeping quiet, which was a blessing I guess.  
  
"I know you're there," she called out, for it was a female Death Eater, and she seemed to be the leader of the other nine Death Eater. "And I'm going to get you," she threatened in the sing song voice of one who is truly barmy. I didn't do anything, as the opportune moment had not come about. There was a long pause, although it only lasted about ten seconds, I felt like it lasted into infinity and beyond. The person behind the mask was scouring the room, and I made sure to keep my head down and then provided some tears. If being a mercenary doesn't work out, I think I'll either be a con artist or an actress…or both.  
  
"Fine," she snapped, angry that she couldn't identify me from the Muggle, which should have taught her something; we're not that different. I mean, we're all still humans, aren't we? "I guess I'll have to force you to show yourself," and with that she summoned the man who had called out, making him fly across the room, limbs at awkward angles, to lie at her feet, her wand aimed straight at his head. "I'll kill him if you don't show yourself," she warned.  
  
This I decided, was way out of my hands. And probably not the opportune moment, but I started to go forward, only to hear the big doors, that provided the only exit to the Art House From Hell as I now thought of it, crash open and wizards with wands burst through it. Now that was the opportune moment.  
  
I stupefied the main Death Eater woman, when she had turned round to see the crashing noise and pulled the man back into the crowd. The people who had just rushed in and started attacking the Death Eaters were out numbered, so I thought they could use a hand, although I reckoned that I should protect the Muggles as they were totally defenceless. So I erected one of those temporary force fields with Aegis very quickly. I had to point my wand at the crowd and for some reason I thought they would cower or flinch, as if I were about to attack them. Surprisingly enough they didn't, maybe it was all to fast for them to realise what I was doing; I had to be very quick as there were Death Eaters behind me, or they trusted me. I glanced very briefly at my parents, wondering what they thought of the whole situation; it was the first (and hopefully only) time they saw me in action.  
  
Returning to the fight after approximately ten seconds, I kicked a wand out of one Death Eater's hand and pushed him, swivelled round and stupefied another Death Eater that was about to curse someone. You see, it's really useful being empathic when you're in battle, because although I can't read people's minds (which is impossible, the nearest you can get to that is Occulmency) because I can sense their emotions and vaguely guess what they're going to do next. Or, know when to run like the wind when I'm really not going to win the fight.  
  
I was alternating between throwing punches and cursing the Death Eaters; I know that I should only use my physical abilities with demons because some of them repel magic, but I'm so used to fighting that way that it's second nature. Plus, Death Eaters, or wizards in general, really don't expect you to use martial arts on them, so it adds the element of surprise. And also, I think that using martial arts is like a way of venting sexual frustration for me; it just takes out all the extra energy I have from not getting any (insert more self pitying sobs).  
  
In between knocking some Death Eater unconscious and hexing another, I managed to yell, "Call me butter, because I'm on a roll!" which was not the smartest thing to do, as it just made me a target. I couldn't help it, I was battle crazy with the rush of adrenaline through my veins. By that time, I'd taken out about three Death Eaters and the other people had taken out about four. When I yelled out in the heat and frenzy of battle, the two of the Death Eaters stopped fighting other people and headed for me. I managed to take out one after ducking so the curse made the giant cloth hanger hat melt and exploded the paper mache thing (which was the only good thing to come of the battle).  
  
The other people were helping me, of course, but some of them were hurt and lying on the floor, seemingly floating in and out of consciousness, one with interesting pink hair was bleeding very badly at the shoulder and another who was very tall and black was protecting the two on the floor. There was only two left, so while one battled on with the remaining Death Eater, one came to help me.  
  
Imagine my surprise when it was Him, the man of my dreams. That sounded as corny as I meant it to. Of course, this distracted my concentration for one second, but that was enough, as I was staring at him like a giddy school girl. The next thing I knew my head hit the floor with a crack.

Woo hoo! I have reviewers! Oh Nightelf, I know, I'm RUBBSIH at summaries...can I steal that? It sounds so good and I'm not intelligent enough to make a decent one of my own...please?

Constructive criticism will be loved like a chocolate ice cream on a hot day.


End file.
